


Something Just Like This

by starzandstrip3s



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Original, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Batman Adventures, Character Study, Coldplay References, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, Fluff and Angst, Good and Evil, Inspired by Music, M/M, Making Out, Mental Health Issues, POV Original Character, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Song Lyrics, Suicidal Thoughts, The Chainsmokers References, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 03:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13673607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starzandstrip3s/pseuds/starzandstrip3s
Summary: How are you supposed to finally determine why you exist on this earth, when your boyfriend admires the impossible and your mind just won't shut up?(A Valentines Day story inspired by the song "Something Just Like This" by Coldplay/The Chainsmokers)





	Something Just Like This

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost...Happy Valentines Day! <3 (It's almost midnight, I can start early)
> 
> Really wanted to move away from camp during this one, instead going deeper by focusing on some relatable issues in between some fluff for the occasion. Representation matters for all things, and mental health awareness is one that I am passionate about. 
> 
> On a day that is obsessed with belonging, remember, you are not alone. You are loved. You matter. And most importantly, you have more power than you think. This one is dedicated to you.
> 
> Shout-out to Kate for consistently listening to my ramblings and many versions of this story. For helping me edit. I love you!
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr sometime, you would make our day! (https://letsgostarzandstrip3s.tumblr.com/)
> 
> With that said, let's go!
> 
> -Meg 
> 
> (Copyright Disclaimer: This work is purely a fan-made interpretation of the Batman universe and its canon elements, all trademarked by DC Comics. There is no claimed ownership over any of the mentioned characters which the interpretations derive from. As such, this story is made for entertainment purposes only).

 

 I like to consider myself as a person who is controlled for the most part. Prepared to step forward with a plan of action, to strike with little hesitation. To put others in their place with a drug tipped dart if needed. This is a trait that keeps me safe in such a chaotic city, whether donning the mask or not.                                                                  

 

However, it’s hard to maintain that persona when your boyfriend is laying on top of you instead of the couch. Assaulting you expertly with his mouth on yours.                         

 

It is regrettably at times like these when I dissolve into the awkward and/or moody teenager I once once, as you never truly get over that phase of life. It just gets pushed to the back-burner until it decides to rear its acne covered head at you, when you feel you can’t help but be consumed in the moment.   

 

As much as I hate this, Johnny teases me like the infuriating adolescent I’m sure he was. The complete opposite of the demure introvert I remember myself being, afraid of people like him.  

 

Guys like him.        

 

A decade ago, when I pictured what kind of person I would end up with, in my room staring out the window of my apartment into Gotham’s buzzing streets, my mind was empty. I like to imagine everyone has a vision of whom would be perfect for them, but it never came together for me. From an objective point of view, sure. I already knew I was gay by that point, but decided to keep it to myself, as it would just offer more bait for why to be picked on. No sense adding to the schoolyard itinerary of relentless bullying. So, from a clearly straight (no pun intended) view, I just knew that it would likely be a guy if I were to grow into the self-assured man I aspired to be. As for what he would look like, what his interests were, his occupation....all that was to be determined. A blank slate was much preferred anyway, why set yourself up for disappointment?    

 

Despite not knowing, and not caring to know, what my future long-term partner (if I were so fortunate to be given some slack by the universe) was to be, I thought of what they likely would _not be_. Sitting under a shaded maple in the schoolyard by myself and watching my peers alone, I judged what characteristics to scratch off to pass the time at lunch.  

 

Literally.

 

Meaning, at lunch I would watch those around me, jotting down notes of what my partner would not be if compatibility analysis had anything to say about it.   

 

I remember watching a group of smokers stand around the tetherball one afternoon, my attention caught by their proximity on the tarmac. They laughed openly through puffs, waving their hands as they told stories of weekend escapades and being kicked out of class after mocking the teacher.

 

- _Smoker_

_-Disrespectful to authority_

 

I glanced back up at them after jotting down these notes, flipping the page to begin the halfway point in my journal. In the meantime of not writing anything down, I pretended to be absorbed in a doodle of Green Lantern on another page.    

 

Looking back on this memory, I can’t help but chuckle at the hypocrisy between my note compared to the troublemaking part of my life now. That Johnny is especially one to provoke authority.  He lives to chuck one-liners at the law. Also, the fact that I can taste the faint undertone of cheap cigarettes on him adds to the contradiction.    

 

He stops kissing me, looking down with a worried smirk.

 

“If I’m really that bad, just shove me off.”

 

“W-what?” I blink, frowning in return.    

 

“You’re laughing!” he grins, propping up on an elbow.

 

Now realizing what my thought process looked like in real-time, I feign an apologetic expression and shrug, not knowing what else to say. Back to teenage instincts, as mentioned.  

 

“Sorry. Just thinking how back in high school I was certain that I would not end up with an unruly smoker type...and here we are.”  

 

“If it makes you feel any better, let me remind you that I only smoke here and there. Helps anxiety better than any medication in my family.”      

 

I roll my eyes.  

 

“You’re missing the point.”  

 

“Everyone loves a bad boy, what can I say,” he purrs, “Sorry if that brings to light anything about you.”  

 

“You’re not a _bad boy_ , you just match a stereotype or two. Not the same thing.”  

 

“But I have a leather jacket,” he protests, pulling at the collar to emphasize. “The most important part of the get-up. It’s faux, but still counts!”    

 

I consider the argument, then shake my head.

 

“It needs to be black, not brown.”

 

“Are you really basing criteria for a bad boy on the colour of his jacket?”  

 

“Yes. Danny Zuko vibes, or nothing,” I conclude, flicking the collar in distaste.

 

He pouts at me, probably questioning why I’m so insistent on this detail because of a musical of all things. Little does he know, you can figure out a great deal about the world from watching a movie or two. I don’t really like musicals, but that one makes an exception because of the film adaption. Mainly because of the cars. And, two songs.          

 

“I see your point. Not buying a black jacket just to prove myself, though.”         

 

“Okay, then. Do whatever else,” I retort, earning a wicked glint in his eye.  

 

“ _Gladly_.”     

 

Next thing I know, the room is suffocating again, although I can’t do much about it being that my breath is being stolen gradually from my lungs. Or, more like coaxed out before fizzling out. Not that I mind, of course.

 

After not seeing each other for a week, this was just splendid. I had kept busy throughout the time I had the place to myself, while he and his friend, Marco, had run off to some music festival they were dying to attend. At times, I reveled in being alone with only the steady hum of the heater to keep me company. Got quite a bit of work done on upgrading my pendent, in between working long afternoon shifts at Aragon Theatre. Getting to decide what to pick up or order for dinner without having to compromise, not picking up after his mess.

 

But, here and there, I did miss him.

 

When he returned about an hour ago, luggage in hand as he strode through the door, I realized just how much I missed him.    

 

“ _God_ , I missed you,” I say aloud this time, my lips brushing against his. 

 

I feel him smile before he continues, grabbing my face and urgently deepening the kiss. Trying to keep up, I ignore the static jumble in my head that is now increasing in volume.   

 

He is just unbuttoning my shirt with nimble fingers when his phone on the coffee table begins to vibrate over and over, an ugly sound that clatters against the glass surface.  

 

“Ignore it,” I tell him, when I feel his lips pause for a moment, as if one part of his head could only function one at a time. Probably is the case.   

 

“Yep,” he assures, the screen now dimming again. 

 

Only getting through another button, his phone buzzes loudly again, clearly the same caller.

 

“I’ll be right back,” he promises, holding up his hands in self-defence before pushing himself off and up to answer the phone.

 

I glare at him, but nod my approval. Throwing an arm over my glasses, I hear him pace over to the patio doors.  

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey, yes, I’m back.”

 

There’s a bit of a stretch of him listening, but by the slight tinny echo I can hear, it’s not good news.

 

“Right now?” he questions, clearing his throat.  

 

“Hm. Okay, will be there soon.”    

 

“Yeah, sounds good. Bye.”  

 

I drop my arm, Johnny now on his way to the table beside the door that holds his keys and wallet.    

 

“Where are you going?” I ask, sitting up to see him better.

 

He shoves his wallet and phone into his jacket pocket before looking over to me.

 

“That was Noonan. Got a call from the trainee, the place is a mess, I guess,” he explains glumly, referring to his ex-hitman boss and owner of Noonan’s Bar, where Johnny is the head bartender. I only met the man a handful of times, who seemed decent enough. Even more so since he knew of who Calendar Man was, but watched his back as long as Johnny did so for him.    

 

However, I'm not too impressed by Noonan at the moment.      

 

“Has he tried calling anyone else to help out?”

 

“Yeah, no one’s picking up. There’s been a couple of fights already, and the poor newbie is not handling it well.”

 

I get up from the couch and meet him at the door, starting to feel the tingling head rush fade away. He must have sensed my displeasure with him leaving again so soon, for he leans over to wrap his arms around my neck, squeezing tightly as he stands on his toes.  

 

“I know. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he apologizes into my shoulder, before leaning away and pecking my cheek. “Don’t wait up.”   

 

He lets go and bends down to find his shoes, a pair of timberland’s with salt stains on the edges. Tugging them on quickly, he then grabs his winter coat hanging beside him.      

 

I step back as he opens the door, at the same time running a hand through his hair in an attempt to tidy it up a bit. Making his way out into the warmly lit hall, he waves before heading out towards the parking lot.   

 

“I’m as good as it gets, and that’s not saying much,” he jokes, still trying to cheer me up even as he turns his back to me.   

 

Although I know he is talking about his job, I can’t help but think of this way to describe myself.    

 

_You’re as good as it gets, and that’s not saying much._

 

With that thought in mind, I shut the door firmly, as if simultaneously shutting down the personal insult that reflects my constant train of thought in a concise sentence. I wouldn’t let that get to me.  

 

At least not right now.    

 

*******

 

 

It’s just after midnight when I hear the front door swivel open with a creak and bang closed. The welcomed intruder putters around for a bit, being distractingly loud as usual, but at least does not take overly long. If they were the opposite, I would have considered the idea of shooting them with my pendant already as a way to pass the time. Anything to continue a quiet sanctuary. Nothing lethal of course, just enough to give a hint.       

 

Talking it out has never really been an option for me. Not by choice, anyway.                

 

Feeling the mattress dip, I roll over from the window and narrow my eyes at him. Not because I’m suspicious or anything, but because he is merely a shadow with patches of neon glowing here and there.  

 

Well, perhaps there is a little healthy suspiciousness.

 

“What happened?”  

 

Johnny lolls his head to me, a tired expression gracing his features. He glances up to me, before closing his eyes with an exhaled groan.    

 

“Drunks.”  

 

“Your favourite type of people.”  

 

“Mhhhm.”  

 

I watch him for a moment, eyes closed as his face slowly relaxes into the pillow. About to give in and go to sleep myself, a thought comes to mind out of nowhere. I debate about saving it for another time, but settle on giving in and throwing it out there.

 

Rolling over to lie on my stomach, I turn to him expectedly.

 

“Who _are_ your favourite type of people?”

 

He raises an eyebrow subtly, before humming out in thought. Restating the question groggily, he backtracks before trying again.  

 

“Favourite type of people are.....,” he pauses, “those old ladies who give free samples out at the grocery store. Also, heroes.”      

 

“Heroes?” I repeat, not following. Out of any answer, I was not expecting a most ironic conclusion. “Because without them, you wouldn’t be you?"   

 

Johnny scrunches up his nose in thought, shifting and hiding away his freckles. An observation I usually enjoy making, but this time it makes me curious.   

 

He opens his eyes, making a lazy gesture with his hand.

 

“I dunno. It’s more like I kind of admire how they struggle. To the point where they find their... _thing_ in the process. Master it so much it becomes what they are known for.”   

 

“That’s sort of...what anyone does if they have a talent,” I articulate slowly, trying not to be condescending.  

 

In return, I get a slightly frustrated sigh.

 

“Yeah. But, I mean in like, they're truly fantastic at taking pain and combining it with their existing or yet to come power.”      

 

“You’re talking mainly about individuals with non-human abilities?”

 

“Well, they're usually more interesting,” he shrugs, closing his eyes again, “But any of them count.”

 

I replay the full explanation internally a few times, just because it’s something new to know about him. After the fifth time, I can’t help but grin silently to myself.    

 

“Now what?” he yawns, somehow knowing my reaction.  

 

“Heroes are your favourite people because they are clever masochists?”       

 

He giggles sleepily and smacks me on the shoulder, but clarifies anyway.

 

“I like the idea that they can stand for something inspiring... an impact that is bigger than their talents and skills. No matter how weird.”               

 

I nod, although I know he can’t see me much.

 

“Their purpose inspires people.”          

 

“Pretty much,” he agrees, “I don’t have a crush on Green Lantern or anything, like _some_ people.”  

 

“I don’t have a crush on him,” I defend with a scoff, “I have always just thought he had the coolest powers. I tried making a ring similar to his when I was ten.”  

 

“See? I think your favourite type of people have a similar answer. You just like the gadget side of it, though,” he guesses accurately.  

 

“True.”  

 

It becomes quiet after that, Johnny finally nodding off after a long day. I stare at the ceiling for a while, not thinking about anything in particular for once. It's nice, to say the least.  

 

However, when your mind is usually busy, you get bored when thinking about nothing.    

 

In an attempt to fall asleep, I spiral into whether self-proclaimed and societal labelled _evil_ could in fact represent positive allegory for the innocent masses. As Johnny believes heroes spanning the ages do. Achilles. Hercules. Spiderman....Batman. I hadn’t really considered evil that deep until now. Could villains illustrate not just warnings of whom _not_ to be? You could have the most advanced technology out there as a villain, but does admiration and acceptance only go so far if you are not defined by something more? Could our side ever mean something for anything progressive, or only be stuck as the antithesis?                   

 

What if that was already possible? Someone out there who does indeed live up to these questions. That would be something.     

 

I can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy over that notion. Someone who follows the same path as me, but with a bigger purpose as well in this city. In this _world_.   

 

Looking over the Johnny, I consider how that would be someone that he would love to meet. His favourite type of person, but with adjustments needed.     

 

As I finally fall headfirst into unconsciousness, that thought surfaces again with snicker.    

 

_You’re as good as it gets, and that’s not saying much._

 

 

_*******_

 

 

“Sleep well?” Johnny greets, sauntering into the kitchen the next day, dull afternoon light streaming into the room.       

 

I’m hunched over my laptop at the island, scribbling down notes. I ignore him and continue to mutter to myself, pen scratching rhythmically across the page.   

 

Deciding to mistakenly take advantage on my presumed lack of attention, he grabs the carton of orange juice from the fridge and take a long chug.       

 

“This pen is great for plucking eyes,” I comment without looking up from the screen being skimmed, “Just so you know.”    

 

He hums as another sip or two is stolen, peering over the counter and trying to decipher my writing from across the counter. Nothing but chicken scratch at the moment.    

 

“I'm not _that_ disgusting, just so you know,” he defends, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

“Agree to disagree.”

 

“I don’t backwash, Ethan. _Really_.”

 

I glance up over my frames with an expression of skepticism, before typing in something on the keyboard with a flourish.  

 

“You don’t believe me?” he accuses in mocking shock, putting the carton back in the fridge beside some leftover Chinese food I got last night. All organized into colour-coded containers and stacked against the side.   

 

“That’s what my brother promised me one time with some chocolate milk, learned my lesson,” I answer plainly, before cursing to myself and scribbling out a sentence.     

 

Johnny leans onto the counter, tilting his head in an attempt to read the notepad upside down. As long as you use all your concentration, it is usually an accurate way to guess what it says.

 

An odd mix of cursive and tally-like edges.   

 

“ _Not letting memories lead_?” he reads aloud, letting out a soft laugh, “Do I want to know what you’re doing?”      

 

“Just doing some research.”

 

“Research that involves flowery notes?”       

 

Before he can figure out anything more, I gather up my stuff between both hands and stomp off towards the study. I shut the door with a solid push, my equivalent to a slam.   

 

Unsurprisingly, he walks in a moment later.

 

I rip a page off the notepad and start fresh on another, now sketching out a diagram on the bottom half of the page.      

 

“If you’re just going to sulk around all day, maybe you shouldn’t come with to that job tonight at the clocktower.”  

 

“I’m not _sulking_. We leave at 2AM, that’s the plan,” I mutter with a warning of finality, meaning I am done with the subject and to go away.    

 

He watches me over the shoulder with most likely a frown before letting his hands smack against his sides.

 

“Well, whatever it is you’re freaking out over, it’s stupid. Get over it,” he chides before huffing out of the room, making sure to close it so loudly we get a noise complaint.   

 

“I’m trying,” I mouth to myself, writing a title at the top of the page and underlining it with one swipe. 

 

** _How to convert emotional baggage into pro-social legacy_ **

 

 

*******  

 

 

Early morning at the clocktower, we’re both still in a sour mood.    

 

We’ve been up on this ledge for about a half hour now, etching on the looming face with a handmade tool similar to a glue stick. A corrosive, highly toxic, glue stick I managed to put together when Johnny was away.

 

Johnny is sitting on my shoulders, gliding the acid over the higher-up planes of glass with one hand and steadying himself with his other on me.   

 

“You spelled _frivolities_ wrong,” I state with a hint of impatience, pointing to a spot in the word. “There should be an _o_ right there.”        

 

“No one cares if a letter is missing. I kind of like how the mistake compliments the message, actually.”   

 

He moves on, finishing up the quote with a few quick strokes before sealing the stick closed with a specially made cap.   

 

“There. Perfect.”

 

“ _Never allow any of your time to be wasted on the friv-lities of life_ ,” I recite sarcastically, as he slides off onto the ledge. 

 

“It gets the point across, that’s all that matters.”     

 

“What, that the illiterate can be persuasive?”

 

He stuffs the stick into his pocket, before taking out his hand again and flipping me off.

 

“Very mature.”

 

“First I’m illiterate, now it’s immature. I’m not some bratty kid you can scold whenever you don’t agree.”

 

“Agreeing is not the same as being in the right.”

 

Laughing bitterly under his breath, he moves past me to the side we used to climb up.

 

“Careful with your forced apathy,” I remind harshly, seeing this made him stop in his tracks. A satisfying wave rolls through my stomach, a feeling akin to getting a hole in one after a few dull turns. I hit a nerve, something that doesn’t happen very often on his side. "No need to burn any more bridges - or should I say houses."      

 

He marches back to me, stopping in front of me with his hands on his hips. 

 

“I learned a long time ago not to care as much as I should. It only gets thrown back in your face - just put in what you have to - and move on.”   

 

I snarl down at him, using my extra inch or two to my advantage.  

 

“Maybe it’s time you do the same,” he challenges, squaring his shoulders and jutting his chin out in face.

 

“If we were the same in that way, we would be _dead_ within the hour.”   

 

“An hour. Well. _Lived_ ,” he hisses, emphasizing each word with a pointy finger to my chest.    

 

“Your sense of quality is highly deluded,” I mutter, shoving his hand away.

 

He gestures with a flourish to the face of the clock behind us, still meeting my gaze unmatched.

 

“I just like to practice what I preach.”

 

“My attention to detail is a waste of time, that distracts from moving on to what is important,” I interpret with a cold undertone, feeling heat rising into my cheeks.    

 

“Exactly. For someone who spends all their time over thinking everyone and everything, they really lack self-awareness,” he says, crossing his arms.   

  

I glare hotly at him, neither of us uttering a noise as the city churns on around us a few streets away.

 

“You have no _idea_ how much time I think about myself,” I whisper so low, I’m surprised he even hears me.   

 

“Well, it is common for narcissists to lack self-awareness. Too much time spent admiring their own reflection to do anything else.”    

 

A narcissist? I want so badly to just laugh at that assumption. The last thing I was would be full of myself. In actuality, I am the one who has the habit of avoiding mirrors unless self-consciousness made me look. But, instead of defending myself, I attempt in remaining as collected as I can.        

 

“I’m going for a walk,” I say curtly, making my way past him.       

 

“Fine.”

 

“Don’t follow me.”

 

“Not planning to.”

 

I feel him tracking me from above as I walk away from the clocktower, determinedly making my way down the street. If I can just go a little farther from here, it will be okay.

 

It will be okay.

 

It will be okay.  

 

Shuddering in a breath, I turn around the corner and away from view. As soon as the brick of an adjacent building hits my back, I bite into my gloved fist hard.

 

_You’re not good enough._

 

_You’re not good enough for anyone._

 

_You’re not good enough for him._

 

_You’re not good enough to have a purpose for existing._

 

_You’re not even good at all._

 

_You’re truly evil._

 

_It’s the truth._

 

 Squeezing my eyes shut, I feel my eye makeup seep into the creases. It stings my eyes like crazy, but I don’t really care at the moment.    

 

“Stop,” I demand the thoughts that just keep rolling in, worsening with every punch.  

 

_Get over it._

 

I scream into my fist, the sound not even carrying as much as I so desperately want it to.      

 

 

*******

 

 

_Fifteen minutes since entering. Better get moving._

 

_Locking the case and putting the key back, I hear a frantic banging on the door, causing me to startle with a yelp. Wide eyed and body paralyzed, I gape at the door._

 

_“Hey, you! Open up!” comes the muffled demand, an equally costumed person on the other side._

 

_I ignore him and open the window, about to swing my leg out. The stranger at the door interrupts._

 

_“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!”_

 

_Frowning, I look from the door to out the window, instantly seeing why there was a warning. A large group of police cars wail around the street corner and have pulled up in front of the building._

 

_No. No. No._

 

_I back away from the window, knowing that no one had seen my attempt at escape, but still remain cautious._

 

_Striding over to the door, I scrutinize the fellow intruder. Slightly shorter than my height. Blond. Calendar inspired mock turtleneck and striped palazzo pants._

 

_For fuc-_

 

_“I presume you are taking me in, then?” I ask calmly, raising an eyebrow in a snobbish lift._

 

_The other scowls at me and bangs on the glass in frustration with his fist._

 

_“No, you idiot, I’m trying to hide us both! The security guard called the cops!”_

 

_“So, you’re going to screw up my operation, but want me to hide you?” I ponder out loud, leaning my hand on the doorframe and leaning in. “No thanks. Have fun at Blackgate. I’m going to assume you are not going to Arkham, because the brilliantly insane go here. Not dumbasses like you,” I reply, feeling blood boil in my chest as I turn to find an alternative exit._

 

_The stranger crosses his arms, staring me down with his own temper._

 

_“Y’anno, assumptions will lead you nowhere,” he drawls, rolling his eyes. “Perhaps I didn’t wake the guard up from the light-handed punch you gave, and I know a way out of here. But-” he pauses dramatically, leaning a shoulder into the glass, “You obviously are just dandy on your own, aren't you?”_

 

_I scowl at him, meeting his gaze. “How long do we-”_

 

_The room begins to pulse red as an obnoxious alarm blares. Iron bars churn and settle down onto the window pane across the room, just as another barrier rolls down on the door. I push the entry button, allowing the other to run in just as the bars were about to reach the floor._

 

_“Have,” I swallow thickly._

 

I resurface from my mental fog, remembering that I’m sitting on the edge of S.T.A.R Labs roof of all places.  

 

Well, that makes it seem like it was a random choice.

 

This is a significant location. The twenty third floor is where I met Johnny, about four years ago. It also happens to be my thinking place. Not because it goes with my whole gimmick or   anything, or because I’m a disgustingly over-romantic sap, but because it's just enough quiet to feel alone without feeling... _alone_. Most of the time.   

 

I’m just starting to get lost in my thoughts again when I hear the faint clap of boots landing on concrete, but remain facing the skyline.   

 

He comes over and sits down beside me on the ledge, swinging his legs gently. We both remain silent for some time.

 

It’s not awkward, but it is uncomfortable all the same.

 

Johnny sighs, peering over to me through his eye-mask before nudging me with his shoulder.

 

“Hey you, open up,” he softly jokes, knowing I get the reference when I don’t question it. However, even if I didn’t understand, asking questions isn’t really something that sounds too appealing right now.   

 

Johnny waits for me to say something, which I know he is hoping for when a disappointed frown is caught in my periphery.   

 

“I know you’re going to be mad, but here it goes. Long story short, I went into the study to see if my laptop was in there,” he begins, rubbing a gloved hand on his neck, “I found your notes in one of the drawers. I’m sorry... I didn’t realize how upset you have been lately, and it was uncalled for to keep reacting like a jerk.”             

 

I want to apologize for the same reason, bit instead continue to watch the streets in front of us, the cars that weave in and out of an industrial maze. The people drunkenly stumbling down sidewalks at this hour. Signs flashing in hues of blue and green, crackling within glass appendages.

 

Feeling like the ice has been broken so to speak, he continues hesitantly.

 

“But, it’s hard to be understanding when not being given much to work with....you know what I mean?”  

 

I don’t care if he understands. It would be preferable to be consumed with my own thoughts and have him in the dark, compared to losing him once he knows. Once he knows how messed up I am, what happens is out of my control. Not like staying silent ever helped in that regard, but knowingly increasing my chances would make it worse.

 

Still saying nothing, I wait for him to just get up and leave, repeating that request internally like the anti-social mantra that has always been there. I can’t stand feeling so vulnerable, even worse being in this costume that makes me feel the very opposite.    

 

“You can trust me,” he reminds gently, but all I hear is pity. 

 

“You’ll finally understand when you are like the rest of them who left,” I state quietly, standing up to move away from the ledge. He follows, watching from a few feet away on my left.

 

“What makes you think I’m going to leave you?”   

 

“...Everyone else did.”      

 

He processes that for a moment, while I stand there trying my best not to run while I still can. If I can get out of here in the next few seconds or so...

 

“You think I’m going to leave you eventually?”

 

“As much as I don’t want you to, definitely.”

 

 

“Then why don't you leave first?” he questions, wrapping his arms around his torso. I want to do the same, but keep my hands fisted at my sides.

 

I look over to him, memorizing all the details at this moment. To remember what I do to people.

 

“What if doing so would erase a day left with them?”   

 

I don’t want to know what he’s thinking, just want to keep dragging that band-aid at an excruciating pace to feel something.   

 

Finally, he turns back to me with a determined glint.

 

“If I wasn't allowed to leave you, would you tell me something?” he says, making a gesture of handcuffs.

 

“That’s illogical.”  

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

I think about it, rubbing my chin. Satisfied with my answer, I shake my head.

 

“No. Because, I still would hurt you, but now it’s even worse that you have to stay.”  

 

“Can I vouch for myself? You’re only giving theories here. Not facts.”   

 

I want to argue against that last statement, but allow him to go on.

 

“Ethan. _Please g_ ive me a chance.”

 

As difficult it is to lay all your cards on the table, especially when you have never played a round, I want to try.

 

For him.

 

I’m getting tired of pretending. 

 

I want to feel...free.    

 

“Okay.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Taking a moment or two to think of where to even begin, I start with the first thing that comes to mind.     

 

“I just...always have wanted to know if my existence had meaning. Ever since I was a kid. That-” I pause, tensing my jaw,  “-whoever I was had a purpose, and it mattered to people. Without purpose, there is no way of explaining why I even need to be around. There just isn’t.”     

 

Johnny looks at me intently as I throw together the jumbled mess in my head out into the world, as the remainder tangles tighter in an attempt to silence what more needs to be said.

 

“Searching for purpose has kept me going over the years. But, the thing is, the harder you try to find who you are and if that means anything in the bigger picture...the harder it is to deal with what others decide.”       

 

“Like what?” he swallows, voice quiet for reasons I don’t want to figure out right now.

 

I close my eyes, fighting the urge to cease explaining my pathetic thoughts and just sprint out of here. It feels difficult to breathe, and I fight off the dread that is creeping in.    

 

“Too many to count. E _vil_ is my least favourite. That tops every label. I mean, it makes sense to be interpreted that way by headline chasing reporters and paranoid citizens. By the spectrum of morality itself.”  

 

“It _is_ quite the thing to say about a person, sure.” 

 

“One that makes it feel like there is no way out. It puts you the deepest into a box."

 

I open my eyes to see him move cautiously a step or two closer, the breeze blowing over a scent of coffee with a subtle undercurrent of grease. Something I usually find comfort in, but right now it makes me quite nauseous. It’s like my body is punishing me for word-vomiting with the threat of real sickness.  

 

“Yeah,” I continue, “It encompasses everything you ever have been and everything you are destined to be. It makes you doubt your every thought and move. Other identifiers can be just traits- this, this is different.”     

 

“What is your purpose if you’re evil?” he questions, laying a hand on my shoulder. I flinch, but he remains there.

 

“To be an example of what needs to be defeated, to be made rid of, for the world to evolve into something better.”   

 

I hear him inhale sharply, but don’t dare look at the damage.

 

Because, I have hurt him.

 

Just as I knew I would by doing so much as being myself.

 

“It isn’t exactly the sort of purpose I have always secretly hoped for, but I’ve accepted it now as something that has been known all along,” I reassure with only the slightest quiver, “Not everyone can be a conqueror, the hero that many aspire to follow. It’s just that simple.”  

 

Johnny drops his hand and gets in front of me, tilting my chin over to meet his eye. They’re wide in shock, from what I can tell from the lamplight nearby. He looks what I can only describe as broken, and I want so desperately to not have him go through that. He doesn’t deserve any of this.    

 

Taking a shaky breath, he blinks a few times.

 

“Where do you want to go? To get away from this, all of it?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Ethan,” he murmurs, “This place is killing you. We need to get out of here before it gets you.” 

 

“Who says escape is even possible at this point?” I deadpan, ignoring how at this point, he is covering his face with his hands.

 

He mumbles something into his palms, leading me to pry regarding what he said to himself.

 

“How far is this purpose shit going to go?” he blurts out, exasperated. 

 

I don’t even think about my answer, it just flies out of my gut and into the space between us.

 

“Whatever the purpose needs. I’ve had it thrust upon me, and I’ll take anything I can get.”

 

He looks at me, horrified, before laughing in disbelief.

 

“You’re willing to die.”

 

I say nothing, as silence gets the message across just fine. He turns on the spot and walks a few feet away. I stand there, not knowing what else to do. What is there to do? Leave him be for a moment, console, run away like I still want to?

 

Just as I’m narrowing down my options one last time, he strides back and takes my hands in his.

 

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, squeezing through my gloves reassuringly.       

 

I open my mouth to address what I’m thinking, but he cuts me off.

 

“No, this and you are not stupid".”    

 

Too stunned for words, all I can do is give a nod of comprehension. 

 

“You've been off for about a week now,” he comments, shifting a point of conversation to one he thinks will ease some tension. If he only knew. 

 

“You’re going to get upset,” I warn, which is probably a pointless thing to say based on what has happened thus far.

 

“Try me.”  

 

I hesitate, letting go of his hands to fiddle with the pendent around my neck.

 

“You remember how you said your favourite people were heroes, because they are best at taking what brings them pain - and turning it into a motivator that is something greater than themselves? Their cause that inspires others long after they’re gone?”   

 

“Oh...what I said has to do with your notes,” he realizes slowly, staring guiltily at his feet.   

 

I feel slightly faint at that moment, but I try my best to take deep and reassuring breaths as the world is crumbling down, sucking me into the abyss.

 

“It’s going to sound _really_ petty, Johnny.”      

 

“Keep going, don’t worry what I think.”

 

“That’s the thing, it has to do with what you think.”

 

“ _What_ are you going on about?” he implores, looking back up at that confession. 

 

“Your favourite type of people are those who consistently do what I will never be able to. You deserve better. Someone with superhuman gifts who knows their purpose and is admired for it. Who makes an impact stronger than any talent or skill.”        

 

He gawks at me now, tilting his head after considering me for a moment.

 

That’s it. Stupid realized.

 

The metaphorical band-aid snags on a particularly sensitive edge, making me wince. The bile resting in my throat heaves.       

 

“Uh, Ethan, people call _me_ evil, too. If we’re talking about how me and a hero of Gotham hooking up, that’s just unlikely because of that whole us versus them thing. You think I deserve more since you love me and they’re assumed ideal people, but that’s just not true a lot of the time.”  

 

I feel my heartbeat drum on in a panic, my head screeching at me as I continue to breathe away the impending black and strive to ground myself.      

 

“Really, there is really no such thing as good and evil people, but good and bad ideas that brainwash for the most part, it just depends on what society wants to keep the same or change in the now. I don’t think you’re ideas are altogether bad, either, or that your ideas alone mean others get to choose your purpose for you. You have just as much a right to deciding your purpose as anyone else. Even if you never do figure it out, that’s okay. I want you around. For a long, _long_ , time.”   

 

He pauses in his rant, once noticing I am spacing out a little. He reaches out to hold my face between his hands in an attempt to calm me down.          

 

“And, you know what?” he breathes, leaning closer, “Even if good and evil were as easily separate as black and white, I’m not looking for that somebody you mean with superhuman gifts. A show-off who can fly around the world. Has mutant abilities. Wins a fight with a few good moves. Some superhero, who is a dream. That’s boring. I want somebody _real_. Someone who believes they have no sense of humour, when they in fact make me laugh every day. Someone who is shy one minute at the drive-thru, but then is giving confident orders an hour later in tights. Someone who gives so much to others, because they don’t know what to give themselves.”            

 

I stay frozen, still coming to grips with all this that just thinking about any part makes my chest ache, my throat closing up dry. At least the vertigo and nausea is getting better now. I move closer to him, to distract myself.  

 

“Someone I can kiss, like it’s the first every time. I like that part quite a bit,” he adds, biting his lip with a cheeky grin.

 

Despite feeling a bit overwhelmed with my episode still, the other kind of overwhelming wins out to my surprise. I close the gap between us. The noise is fading by now, although I still am feeling quite anxious, but the demand to pull in instead of push away is the new thought. An order I am delighted to oblige in, grabbing him by the waist and coaxing him closer. His gloves smell of leather and ink, he tastes like coffee addiction, and he feels like home.         

 

Leaning back a little, I take in how content he looks.

 

I certainly have a long way to go. These thoughts will never fully go away, and I will likely stay the same in my core. However, it’s a step forward that I never thought would happen.

 

Something that will make me more similar to heroes, even in the slightest. 

 

_You’re as good as it gets....for what you have to work with._

 

“So, you want a bad boy?” I ask dryly, smirking down at him.        

 

He laughs, sinking into my embrace.

 

“I want something just like this.”   


End file.
